Garage Sale

When I lived in America, I often watched my mom and sisters unravel the science of yard-sales. Your signs have to be the right color, with proper arrows, placed on the appropriate corners. You must operate on the best days; Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. You must have everything priced properly and organized into categories or people won't buy.

Like most things in Russia, yard sales are done a little differently. In the international community in which I live, it is common for people to come and go. However, this summer there seems to be an influx of people leaving. Whether they or the company are paying for the move, they realize there is just too much stuff to put into boxes. Bring on the garages full of random goodies!

So here are some new rules. Put the signs up whenever you want, including the day of the sale. The signs can be handwritten, printed, vague, or concise. Just because the starting time is listed doesn't mean you have to be ready to sell by then. Bus stops are the prime locations for fliers. Nannies, seasonal workers, and the non-corporate group actually use buses. (There is no criticism here. I use the bus stops all the time as well).

Don't price your stuff. Run around like a crazy person while 50 Filipinos are asking prices and then offering you ten percent of said price. When you are being asked questions, yell to your spouse/child/friend in at least two languages. Then respond to the questions in whatever language you choose, even if the person asking the questions doesn't speak that language.

I hope you get the idea. I am having a garage sale of my own tomorrow. I haven't got much, but I want to experience the popularity of people flocking to my garage. I didn't price anything. That kind of recklessness wasn't possible for me before I lived here. Who knows what could happen next.

Ready to Move...or not.

Today my housekeeper was laughing at me because I was organizing my spices. You should be impressed that they are NOT in alphabetical order (like most things in my house) but instead they are organized by shape of container, material of the lid, and oh, yikes. Maybe I am a little loco.

Anyway, the school year is finished. Standardized testing has been done.

So I have begun cleaning the closets. This entails sorting clothes that no longer fit, throwing out old textbooks (this hurts--I admit), and finding new places for old things. We are at a strange crossroads in our life and the house shows it.

This is our first time overseas. It's our first time doing contract work. In August, we could simply pack up, go home, and game over. Or.... it's a big word.

A few weeks ago we planted some perennials in the front of the kitchen window. I've never been able to keep flowers alive. My boast is that I keep kids alive and that is sufficient. Somehow, I am nurturing a Spider plant in a pot and the flowers outside are looking prettier every day.

Today we hung a bulletin board in the classroom (really a twist on the dining room) that is about 3ft by 5 ft. In some ways I feel like we're finally moved in and yet may be preparing to move out. Who knows?

I'm not alone. Every one of my ex-pat friends deal with the same feelings on a yearly basis. Will we stay? Will we go? Will we get a new job? Better pay? What will people think?

So, we've committed to stay another year. We reluctantly told the kids and they....cheered and screamed. Not exactly the response I was expecting, but I guess they like it here better than I thought.

I'll write more soon. We've been on summer break and I've been busy quilting, reading, and gathering house plants from people leaving. It's official. I have houseplants. I'm staying for a bit. But of course, my life motto: Write your life in pencil and carry a big eraser. I'm always ready if it changes.

Mitino

To begin, I want to list some of my favorite things about the metro in Moscow.

1. There is no division of classes.
Although the politicians and 'mucky-mucks' ride around in limos and black sedans with blue lights, the rest of the population uses the metro. This could be your average homeless guy (who may or may not be an alcoholic depending on the smell) or the CEO of some major company using his smart phone to do business.

2. If you miss this train, there will be another one in a few minutes.
At the front of each tunnel, there is a timer that counts down when the last train left. I have rarely seen the timer go past 3 minutes. If a train is too full or we don't feel like shoving, we just wait for the next one.

3. Rides cost 28 rubles and kids are free.
I know I've mentioned this before, but for a family of six, there is NO cheaper transportation. Technically kids over six years-old are supposed to pay, but we have found that the guards often have pity on such a large family and allow all of the kids to go through free. If I have only one or two of the older ones, we pay for them. The fare is not based on amount of stops or destination. You simply pay 28 rubles and ride until 1am if you want. Once you go up to the surface through the gates, you would have to pay again.

4. The interior of some stations are lovely enough to be in museums.
Yes, some of it is methodical and rigid, but some of it is colorful and breathtaking.

5. I can read my Kindle and skip the traffic.
No honking drivers, no crazy six lane mergers, and no sitting with miles of cars in front of me. It's a peaceful feeling.

So with that, I would like to share with you my favorite station and why. This station is called Mitino (pronounced Mee-tee-na although some insist on calling it Mit-no) and is among the very few stations that don't end with "skaya". It is my favorite because it is our "hometown" metro stop. I have been here more than any other stop and it is new, clean, and very accessible. When I hear the announcement over the loudspeaker for "Stansiya Mitino" I know I'm almost home.

Metro Madness

I apologize for not writing much lately. I have a bad case of "senior-itis." I'm not a senior in high school or college, but I am a homeschooler and the Spring time brings promise of projects getting finished, hours of the kids being outside, and simply put; no school.

Officially my husband's contract ends in August. This doesn't mean we're leaving, but we are behaving as if this is our last summer in Moscow. My husband is the master of hair-brained schemes. I have found myself reluctantly following him to the ends of the earth only to discover that the results of his ideas are profound and wonderful. His latest idea---visit and photograph every one of the 185 metro stations in Moscow which span 305km (190mi). The best part about this plan is that a metro ride costs only 28 rubles (about $1) and we ride as long as we want.

So every weekend, we run off for a couple of hours to tour the underground greatness that is the metro. We are struck by the beauty of the stations and also intrigued by the people who use them. They are intrigued by us as well. Standing in a metro station taking pictures tends to draw attention in such a dismal routine.

Last Saturday we left our house at 7am to travel a particular line. We forgot about the Russian holiday the week before and the strange arrangement that it requires of employees. It's like this. If there is a holiday on Tuesday, you get the day off, but you have to work Saturday to make up for it. It begs the question, why have a vacation day at all? What's the difference? Anyway, what we thought would be a leisurely ride turned into a cutthroat, shove-all to get a standing spot inside the moving wagons. As I flexed every muscle in my stomach and legs, I discovered, for the first time, why it is Russian women have such nice legs.

As of today, we have completed 44. To begin, I am posting a picture of the metro map itself so you have an idea of what we're trying to cover.

Good Day Sunshine

When I was a child, my mother always warned me about being a "fair-weather friend". I didn't really understand that until about middle school when I was sitting alone at the lunch table because I wasn't considered cool anymore. My "friends" smiled at me from the popular table and I understood perfectly what it meant.

I like Moscow.

Some people call me crazy. It's true that it's dirty, overcast, and the traffic is terrible, but the eternal optimist in me can't help but see the good side. I always liked the story about Pollyanna because she saw good in everybody and everything. But lately, the crummy weather has me moaning and sighing about this place.

But I've begun to see myself through this lens of fair weather. The snow melted, the sun is shining, and my mood is lifted. The summer last year was so beautiful that I felt it had forgiven the hard winter. Why should the winter have to be forgiven? Moscow seems so near the North Pole, it would be considered uncouth to be overly warm.

A friend of mine in the neighborhood is always pointing out to newcomers how courteous Russian drivers can be. Courteous? After really paying attention, I see it too. There has never been a time when I couldn't merge from a shoulder into an actual lane without somebody letting me it. I have never been run off the road by somebody honking their horn and giving me the bird.

The good weather has also warmed the hinges on my front door as the kids come in and out...in and out. Yesterday we did school in the yard and Numbers 1 and 2 burned ants using a magnifying glass. The sun has so many benefits. I will stop paying for tanning (which, by the way, I do medicinally to ward off severe psoriasis symptoms). I will skim off the winter pounds by walking to my friends' houses, jumping on my bike for a ride, and strolling longer than expected in downtown Moscow.

Call me a fair weather friend. I can take it.

How many underwear?

If you don't already know it, I have three daughters. They all share a room. I grew up with two sisters and we all shared a room. I don't ever remember it being inhabitable. Then again, I don't ever remember specific toys we played with other than blocks and crayons. On a weekly basis, I have to cajole, threaten, and encourage my girls to clean up their room (which is, by the way, the master suite). My husband, Mr. Fix it, says to me, "It's simple. They have too much stuff."

After defending my right to overindulge my kids with worldly goods, I though I might give his suggestion a try. yesterday was our first official day of Spring Break. In less than an hour, I managed to sort out all four dressers (my son's included) and found that each child had a garbage bag....maybe you didn't hear me...A GARBAGE BAG of unnecessary, superfluous clothing. I'm pretty sure Number 3, a fashionista, will never need three, green, long-sleeved shirts or 14 pairs of pants. I think she can exist with just seven.

I have never been like this before. It's moving across the world that's changed me. Somehow inside I panic. What if I need that for another child? What if I find I can't replace something of equal value or quality for a decent price? But the true fact of the matter is that my wardrobe, though limited, gets me through life just fine and I manage with 5 pairs of pants.

My son's room cracks me up. He is the only one in the house who lives alone. In some ways I envy him. Free to keep things tidy. Free to sort and organize any way he wants. Until I went into his dresser.

Here's a math problem for you.

If a boy wears a clean pair of boxers each day and does his own laundry every Thursday, in what situation would he ever need 25 PAIRS OF BOXERS?

And what's more, many of them on the bottom of the drawer had never been worn or washed since outside Walmart. That being said, somehow the hand-me-downs didn't quite add up this round because Number 3 has no socks at all! Go figure.

Anyway, today is day two of Operation

"Why are we storing crap we don't need, use, wear, etc?"

Can you have etc. in a title?

Here's the other truth that occurred to me. Imagine your kitchen. Imagine that each type of utensil is in a plastic container the size of a shoebox. Then imagine that the shoeboxes are stacked up in a corner that's somewhat hard to get to. When you get one out, you have to unstack the pile, open the container, stack them back up, then put it back later. Would you bother or would you leave everything in a pile in the middle of the room. Exactly.

They need better storage. Thankfully, IKEA is close-by. I rewarded myself for all the hard work by going there today and purchasing much needed storage for the girls and a meatball or two for myself. Call it retail therapy or what you will. If it makes it possible for fireman to get to my girls in a fire, then it's worth it.

Stick in the Eye

When I was a student, I was a good one. I handed in my work ahead of time, always did the extra-credit projects, and generally expected others to do their best. As you can imagine, I was sorely disappointed on a regular basis.

The summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I attended the Summer Institute for a few weeks at a college campus hours from my hometown. I was one of those students who opted to spend my summer break learning more and spending time with like-minded, self-proclaimed geniuses.

The focus of my intensive classes was creative writing. For this small town, conservative girl, it meant spending time with kids who flippantly used colorful language (in the name of creativity) and had more "worldly" knowledge than I cared to explore. But their writing was amazing. Maybe even because of these things their writing was amazing.

My roommate was another conservative, small town girl from a different area of the state. Her focus was biology. She is a nurse now so I guess we're both using our experiences properly. She was upbeat, beautiful, and painfully optimistic, even for me. She used this phrase that is maybe more common than I give it credit:

It's better than a sharp stick in the eye.

Those words rang in my ears today as I did school with Number 2 looking out a window of yet more falling snow.

Well, it's better than a sharp stick in the eye.

Number 2 is a bare minimum type of kid who just wants to pass. He's always asking to opt out of certain lessons or somehow simplify the process. I admit I have given in on more than one occasion and it may be biting me in the rear. The lessons today were physically painful.

A couple years ago my hubby and I were desperate to expand our income. I mean, really low. He had been laid off for several months and the credit cards were maxed out. Just then a plasma donation center opened up a reasonable drive from our house. So we both donated plasma to make $50-$100 a week.

Did I mention that I'm anemic, have a really super-fast heartbeat, bruise easily, and generally don't like giving away parts or my anatomy? Well I'm mentioning it now. All this to explain that today, I would have run into a chair to let a nurse stick me with a needle just to escape the responsibility of educating my offspring. If teachers around the globe ever feel this way, we should require goggles just in case anybody wants to test the sharp stick in the eye theory. I have my doubts.

Maybe I'm upset that a security guard doing rounds yesterday wrote me up for leaving my trash on the front porch for ten minutes. Maybe I am in some serious need of a Spring Break. Maybe I can expel some of my frustration by making lovely greeting cards and drinking Mai-tais by the fireside tonight. Yeah. That should do it.

There's one other phrase I never could figure out. "It ain't no thang but a chicken wang" Maybe I'll use that one tomorrow during school. Or maybe there'll be a snow day and we'll cancel altogether. Maybe that's where it's better than a sharp stick in the eye.